


With Extra Marshmallows

by sillykos (statikos)



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statikos/pseuds/sillykos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert Nightray and his brothers experience an average day running the family café. It is about as fun and romantic as anyone in the hospitality business might expect, until Oz walks in.<br/>[Request for Ryoura!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Extra Marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> A request for Ryoura, who--poor thing--didn't know that I actually do work in a coffee shop IRL. I would have to say that people who don't work in coffee shops might actually think I'm joking about some of the stuff that happens in this story, but I would say that this is pretty much 100% accurate to my workplace at times, hahaha.  
> Haven't written for this fandom in a long time, but here we go.

“Hello? Hello? Are you listening?”

It may be a family business, but Gil still wishes it wasn’t _his_ family’s business sometimes. Still, he straightens up, and gets on his tiptoes to look at Elliot over the coffee machine. “S-sorry, yes!”

“Can you remake that white chocolate latte for 23? She says it’s not hot enough.”

Gil’s face falls. “ _Again_?”

“Apparently, she told you to make it 85 degrees.”

“I-it was 85 degrees! If I make it any hotter, I’ll burn the milk…” Gil finds himself nervously wiping down the counter in front of the coffee machine with his cloth.

Elliot rolls his eyes. “Whatever, then. She deserves burnt milk.”

Of course _Elliot_ would say that, but Gil knows better than to toy with customers who are already unhappy with their service. Perhaps nothing will happen to them… immediately. Then she’ll come up to the till and ask for the manager. They will have to explain that the managers don’t work over the weekends and she will have to come back on Monday. Or they will have to give her the number for head office, and Gil will have to spend at least an hour on the phone explaining to Elliot’s father _exactly_ what went wrong.

So, yes, she deserves burnt milk, but as Gil steams it he makes sure to keep a close enough eye on the thermometer that he doesn’t. He pours it slowly, makes a swirl on top with the white chocolate syrup, and puts it up onto the drinks counter.

Nothing happens. He looks around the store for Elliot, then turns behind him and sees him on the food station, shaking extra icing sugar onto a slice of chocolate brownie. “Excuse me? Uh, Elliot—”

He must have startled him because he suddenly shakes the sugar too hard and the poor brownie suddenly looks to have survived a small snowstorm. Elliot whirls, icing sugar all over his apron. “ _What_?”

“I just thought, maybe—maybe you could run this drink for me? I have lots more to make, and I thought you were—”

“Oh, my God, Gilbert.  I have been running for _hours_ now. I’m already behind on food and don’t even talk to me about iced drinks! Isn’t Vincent supervising? Make _him_ run it for you!” With that, Elliot picks up the brownie on its plate, slams it down on the food counter and goes about making a caramel frappuccino with more contempt than Gilbert would have even considered possible.

He sighs. Reluctantly, he pokes his head into the back of the kitchen. “Um… Vincent?”

Hunched over the store’s computer, Vincent abruptly sits up straight and closes Facebook frantically. “Yes, Gil?”

“I was just, uh, wondering if maybe you could… r-run some food and drinks for us. Elliot and I are really busy, s-so—”

“Gil. _Gilbert_. I am the _supervisor_. Can’t you see how busy _I_ am?” Vincent motions back to the screen, realises he’s left Youtube open, then closes that as well to reveal the staff email account. “I _must_ order new cakes. We are nothing without our cakes. Oh, look, and head office is running a charity campaign soon. For orphans, Gil. _Orphans_.”

Gil squirms. “U-um, I know, but… I would really appreciate it if—if maybe—”

Vincent yawns. “Well, for you I suppose I will. But Elliot might have to run his own food for a while. I can’t do everything.”

“Th-thank you. That’s very nice.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Vincent beams.

Sighing, Gilbert returns to the coffee machine to get back to work. With Vincent helping to run it _almost_ goes faster, or would if Vincent didn’t try to chat every time he came over to collect a drink. Thankfully, the rush soon abates, Vincent goes on his “break” and Gilbert finds himself cleaning the coffee machine in an almost empty store. He’s just getting used to the quiet when the doors burst open, and through them comes the most incredible boy Gilbert has ever seen.

Of course, he doesn’t know right away that he’s the most incredible boy he’s ever seen. Actually, the first thing he notices is that they pushed the door open so hard that it knocked over one of their signs, and that he will almost definitely have to go pick that up soon. But alas.

The boy approaches the till, puts his hands on his hips and cranes his head around the machine  with a bright smile that makes Gil’s knees go a little bit wobbly. He smiles back sheepishly and goes back to cleaning. The boy steps in front of the till, rocking back and forth on his heels. Gilbert lifts up the grinder to wipe the bench underneath it. From this angle he can just see Elliot out of the corner of his eye, frowning up at him from where he’s kneeling to tidy up the food cabinet. He’s mouthing something at him. ‘Save’? ‘Sieve’? Gil cocks his head. Elliot points up at the till. Wait! ‘ _Serve_ ’!

Gilbert leaps behind the till as quickly as he can. “H-hello, how can I help you today?”

He laughs. Gil doesn’t want to be clichéd and think that it reminds him of golden bells. But it totally reminds him of golden bells. “Are you okay?”

“May I take your order?” It takes him a moment to realise he didn’t answer his question. “Y-yes, thank you.”

The boy looks around the store. “Are you busy today?”

“Not really. A… a little bit, earlier, but that’s good, right?” He pushes another smile. He should be friendly to customers! “I-I’d rather be busy than bored.”

Elliot murmurs something while he straightens up the cheese scones. Gilbert thinks there _might_ have been a swear word in it.

“Oh, well, that’s good, because I’d like to order something, please!”

“No problem. What would you like?” Gil looks down at him, and his smile slowly becomes easier and more genuine. It’s probably silly. He probably shouldn’t even consider the possibility that a customer would be interested in him—especially not a male customer—and anyway he barely knows this person, and they’ve only just met. It’s just… he has these big green eyes and fluffy blond hair, and perhaps if Gilbert were a little braver he might—he might—

“Right! I’d like a mochaccino in your largest size with three shots, not too hot. Oh, and can I have some marshmallows in it, please? Two. I’d also like a medium, trim flat white with _two_ shots, decafe, about 90 degrees, and a large hot chocolate with extra chocolate and _three_ marshmallows in it and—and—”

Gil is shaking. He hasn’t entered even _one_ of those things into the till yet. How can one person order so much? “A-and?”

“Do you do tea to go? Oh, yes, it’s to go! What herbal teas do you have?”

“U-um,” Gilbert tries to use this brief reprieve to start entering the order into the till. “W-well, we have green tea, peppermint, chamomile a-and a berry b-b-blend called—”

“Berries sound nice! I’ll get that in a small size, and can I also have an iced chocolate with cream, ice cream and a shot of strawberry? No extra ice please, but lots of chocolate syrup on top, and to eat we’ll get—”

Gilbert is pushing buttons as fast as he can, but no trick he’s learned on the till can possibly match this pace. The boy seems to have paused to look into the cabinet. He takes the opportunity to stall for time again. “Er, excuse me. What’s… your name for the takeaway?”

“Yup, it’s takeaway!” He falters. “O-oh, my name. It’s Oz. ‘O-Z’. I’ll have a caramel filled donut and a piece of the chocolate brownie, both heated up, a sausage roll and a cheese scone with butter.”

“O-okay. Is that all t—”

“Oops! And I’ve definitely got to get the cookies and cream cheesecake. Can you do that to go?”

“Yes, of course we can.” He punches that into the till. Then he realises it’s silent. The order is _finally_ complete. “Is… is there anything else I can do for you today? Would you like me to read that back to you?”

Oz smiles. “Nope, I’m sure you got it!”

Weirdly, and in spite of himself, Gil laughs. “U-um, well, _I’m_ not so sure, so maybe—if you don’t mind—”

“Kill me,” he hears Elliot muttering, as he straightens up from fixing the cabinet and goes back to his station. Gilbert gives him a brief, reassuring look over his shoulder, then reads back the order slowly. It is corrected at least three times, with the addition of more marshmallows to almost _everything_ being a definite factor, but finally Oz seems satisfied.

“Perfect! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” breathes Gil, exhausted. “We’ll have that ready for you soon.”

But perhaps not as soon as he’d originally thought. For some reason, he can’t stop peeking at Oz where he’s standing to wait on the other side of the machine, meaning he loses at least three of his shots to uneven tamps and has to make new ones. It takes him so long, in the end, that Elliot taps him on the back at least twice to show him he’s finished the food and the iced chocolate. Finally, Gil manages to finish his drinks and hand them over the counter in a cardboard tray, hands shaking again.

“Thank you!” says Oz, smiling again. This time, he even winks at him. Gil laughs nervously in response and turns back to get his food. Before he can pick it up, Elliot takes him by the arm and stops him.

“What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you make coffee like that? Are you sick?”

“N-no, Elliot, it’s nothing—”

“Did that customer say something to you? I can kick him out if he said something to you.”

“He didn’t, he’s wonderful, let’s just give him his donut and—”

“He’s what?”

“He’s… w-waiting for his food, so—”

“Did you just call a customer _wonderful_?” Elliot wrinkles his nose. “Customers aren’t _wonderful_. They’re annoying and demanding.”

“I-I didn’t mean to—I mean, it isn’t that—oh, Elliot, please just give him his food…”

“I will,” says Elliot, “in a minute.”

He takes out a spare napkin and a pen. In a flash of horror, Gil realises what he’s doing. “E-Elliot, please—Elliot, wait—”

“No waiting. Here’s your food, sir, have a nice day.” Elliot all but shoves the boxes into the plastic bag, along with the napkin. From this distance, he can see the faint letters adorning it in Elliot’s large, messy handwriting; below them, numbers. Familiar numbers…

“See you later!”

…And, too late, Oz walks out of the store with his food and drinks in hand. Gilbert’s jaw drops. He looks at Elliot for a long time, fighting the urge to burst into tears. “I-I—I can’t believe—”

“I did you a favour. I stopped it before it started.” Elliot folds his arms, tilting his chin up like he always does when he wants to pretend he’s taller. “Now he’s got your number, and if he wants to call you, he will!”

“B-but, but I didn’t—I wasn’t g-going to—”

“Exactly! And now—ugh, just forget it! He probably won’t, anyway! If you weren’t going to, why do you care?” Elliot scoffs, but he looks a little guilty. “Just—j-just forget it, anyway.”

The rest of their shift progresses in relative silence. It’s only after they’ve closed and he’s halfway home on the bus that he opens his bag and, unthinkingly, checks his cellphone.

There are 4 unread messages from an unknown number.

It can’t be—but it must be! Fumbling with the touch screen, he opens the conversation.

_hi this is oz. are u that guy from the coffee shop?_

_hope i didn’t get the wrong number hehe_

_oh well if I did it dosn’t matter what i say rite? ;) u were so cute! coming back for sure xx_

_sorry. didn’t mean 2 send. thats embarrassing :S_

Gil just stares down at the screen. There are a number of ways to handle this. Firstly, he could pretend he never saw the messages. Secondly, he could tell him he had the wrong number. Or, thirdly, he could stop being such a wimp and—

_I’d love to see you again. I’m working tomorrow, same time?_

—message him back?


End file.
